A Family Thing
by Emerald Ashes
Summary: The trouble with large families is that nothing you do is ever truly unique. To fill the time during prefect rounds, post-war Ginny and Draco begrudgingly hold a civil conversation which quickly turns competitive...


**A Family Thing**

Typically, Slytherin and Gryffindor prefects were never paired for rounds. After all, prefects are supposed to set a good example, and they can't do that if they're hexing each other in the halls.

Ginny's usual partner was sick, however, and, despite their mutual protests, she'd ended up doing midnight rounds with Malfoy.

After a year of playing host for the psychotic Dark Lord, he'd come back to finish his education, along with a few other students. Ginny didn't have a problem with Malfoy. There were rumors that the Malfoys had betrayed Voldemort in the final battle, and, even if they hadn't, the war was over. Holding onto old grudges would only hurt their country when it so desperately needed to heal.

He was still a first-class git, though.

It was a painfully silent night, with no snogging couples to break up and no out-of-bed troublemakers to catch. Snape wasn't even around to sweep past in his late-night pacings, an occurrence that had been common in Ginny's first year as a Prefect. The silence grew oppressively heavy and, to her shock, Malfoy spoke.

"Why did you start playing Quidditch?" he asked her.

Ginny jumped in surprise. "What?"

"It's called speaking, Weasley. We civilized people do it, occasionally. I apologize for expecting you to know that. I'll be more cautious in the future."

"Oh, come off it," Ginny snapped. "I just didn't hear your question."

He rolled his eyes, speaking slowly, as if to an idiot. "Quidditch. You. Why?"

She glared. "The team needed a couple Chasers. Also, it's sort of a family thing."

Draco snorted. "What isn't?"

Her brow crinkled, and she said, "Sorry?"

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, Weasley, but there are a dozen of you infesting Britain at this very moment, and, loathe as I am to admit this, the Weasley family is nearly as old as the Malfoys. I imagine a Weasley has done just about everything."

"There are nine of us," she corrected, "and we're actually older than you by about a hundred years."

He gaped. "How did you know that?"

"You're not the only one who learns their history, Malfoy. Just because we don't think it makes us better than anyone doesn't mean it isn't important," she snapped.

"Heh, who ever would have believed it? The Weasleys actually care about their breeding."

"It's not like that," she muttered. Ginny wished desperately for a distraction, but the castle remained eerily silent. Every portrait snoozed in his or her frame, and there wasn't even a friendly clanking from the suits of armor. After a moment of silence, Malfoy spoke again.

"You never answered my question," he said, casting his lit wand about the empty hallway. His gray eyes carefully avoided looking at her.

"You didn't ask a question," Ginny said.

He frowned. "Yes, I did. I asked what you've done that wasn't a family thing. I imagine you've accomplished something on your own merit which hasn't been done by several people before you."

"Of course I have!" she yelled.

"Like what?" he challenged.

She said, "I…Well, um…"

He smirked. "Kneazle got your tongue, Weasley?"

"No, I'm just thinking."

She went silent again, but Malfoy was having none of that. "Think aloud, then."

Ginny glared darkly. Still, the idea did have some merit. There was something about talking with someone that always made everything easier to understand. To explain things to someone else, you have to understand it at least a little. She used to organize her thoughts in writing, but…well, she hadn't done that for a long time.

"Okay, fine," she finally huffed.

Malfoy smugly gestured for her to go on. Pompous git.

"Right, well, everybody was on the Quidditch team, obviously. I did pretty good on my OWLs, but Percy got Outstandings on all of his, and Bill did nearly as good, so-"

"Well," Malfoy corrected.

"Huh?"

"He did well. It's a wonder you did 'pretty good' on your OWLs when you can't even speak correctly."

"Whatever," she said. "Anyway, grades are out. So is being a prefect, and, even if I get the Head Girl position, two of my brothers have been Head Boy, and it's nearly the same thing. I look the same as everyone else in the family, and everyone insists I'm a shoe-in for my grandmother at my age, so that's hardly unique. I've even got her temper. I'm the only properly born girl in a couple generations, but that hardly counts as an accomplishment; it's not like it's anything I had to work at. Ron was at the Department of Mysteries a couple years ago, and that was all Harry's idea, anyway. I'm only seventeen, so I really haven't done that much, um…I was in the DA, but so were Ron and the twins."

"DA?"

"Harry's defense club."

"Ah, right. Well, at least you have your spot as Potter's little lover to fall back on," Malfoy said flippantly, spinning his wand between his fingers so that the light flickered in the hall.

"Don't do that," she muttered, eyes carefully on the floor so she wouldn't trip on a mischievous flagstone. "And, no, I don't."

Malfoy gaped. "Wait, someone else has dated Potter? Oh, it's not your youngest brother, is it? I mean, I knew they were always attached at the hip, but I didn't realize it was so literal."

"No! Ron is not dating Harry. Ew. It's just that I'm not dating Harry, either."

"Really? Half the school's convinced otherwise."

"Half the school are idiots," she said with a disdainful sniff.

"More than that, actually, but usually they don't get the gossip so thoroughly wrong."

"I'll admit we went on a date or two, but it just didn't work out. Don't get me wrong, Harry's a great guy, but he's also a bit thick and annoyingly innocent. He doesn't know things, and he doesn't really want to. It's like, he's been through so much, but none of it matured him. It's weird," she rambled.

"Right, so you and Potter aren't dating. Anything else?"

"Huh?"

"That you've done," he clarified.

"Oh," she said softly. "Well…"

Ginny hesitated a moment, debating whether or not to share her thoughts with the blond. Still, there was something about the night, something about being alone, half-hidden in the darkness with a chance to finally give vent to her feelings.

She'd never felt comfortable talking to her family – they were far better talkers than listeners – and she'd never had any close friends. Her roommates were fine for a quick bit of gossip or class partners, but she'd never bonded with them like they had each other. Ginny had never really gotten that close to Harry, either, even before the dating debacle. The closest thing she had to a best friend was Colin Creevey, but, when she'd tried opening up to him, he'd taken a photo of her crying "to capture the moment" and had ruined the chances of her ever trying _that _again.

Besides, the last person she'd spilled her heart to had nearly murdered her. That had ruined her trust for a good long while, maybe forever, and, irrational though this relaxed feeling was, Ginny couldn't help but relish the ability to speak so freely.

"I opened the Chamber of Secrets," Ginny said softly.

"You what!?" Malfoy yelped, and the redhead couldn't help but laugh at his reaction.

"It was in my First Year. I found this diary in my cauldron, and he…it wrote back to me. I shouldn't have kept it, but I liked its company. It paid attention to me. Then, it possessed me and used my body to open the Chamber of Secrets and release the beast."

"A Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets," Malfoy repeated dumbly.

She continued, enjoying his dumb-struck presence. She'd never told anyone the story before. Everyone had either already known everything, known a little and made assumptions, or not known enough to ask. "I tried to throw it away, after that. Threw it in the fire and soaked it in toilet water, but it always came out alright. Then, Harry got a hold of it for a while, and I was so scared it would tell him all my secrets…"

"You were eleven," Malfoy pointed out. "What secrets could you possibly have had?"

"Oh, nothing important, just silly little things, but I didn't know that, then. After I took it back, it possessed me again, brought me down in the Chamber and left me to die while it ate all my life energy."

"And?" Malfoy demanded.

"Harry saved me. At least, that's what everyone says. I slept through it. Can you imagine? The most exciting moment of my life and I was passed out on the floor," she chuckled.

"Well, that's certainly unique," Malfoy said.

Ginny hummed in agreement. "It doesn't really count, though."

"Please don't tell me one of your brothers did that too," Malfoy said weakly.

She giggled. "No, of course not. It's just that it wasn't really me that did it. It was T-the diary. It was more done _to_ me than by me, so it's not something I did that no one else did. The same thing goes for being possessed…"

Something occurred to her, and the redhead asked, "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Well, you're from an old family, and everyone thinks you're just like your dad. What've you done that no one else has?"

"Ah, I see. Eh-hem, well, there've been dozens of Malfoy heirs. My father was a prefect. My maternal grandmother was the Slytherin seeker. I never took the Dark Mark but I never actually made a stand against You-Know-Who, so I suppose that doesn't count. Besides, grandfather did resist, so that would have been a 'family thing,' as well."

"Your grandfather fought You-Know-Who?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes, they were schoolmates, I think, and he couldn't stand the thought of bowing to someone without the proper lineage. The Dark Lord killed him, of course."

"Oh…"

He coughed. "Back to the topic at hand: Impeccable grades are par for the course for a Malfoy, as are impeccable manners, and an impeccable appearance."

Ginny laughed. "Can you believe this? Between the two of us, we can't think of a single thing we've done that no one else in our family has!"

Draco's eyes lit up and a familiar smirk grew upon his pale face. "Actually, you're wrong about that. I can think of one thing."

"Really?" she asked curiously.

"Yes," he paused dramatically, letting the silent hallway feed her impatience. He lazily cleared his throat and, at last, declared, "No Malfoy in a thousand years has ever had a civil conversation with a Weasley."

"That's…a pretty good point," she admitted.

"Hah! I win," he gloated.

She argued, "No you didn't. It works for me, too. I'm the first Weasley to talk to a Malfoy without wanting to punch him."

"But I'm the one who came up with the idea, _and _I'm the one who started the conversation. You yourself said that an action doesn't count if it's done to you. So I win," he said.

"No you don't!" she said, Weasley temper rising.

"You're such a sore loser, Weasley."

Malfoy wasn't wrong, per se, but she'd certainly never admit that. She'd never been able to stand losing, though that was more a Prewett trait than a Weasley one.

Suddenly, an idea crept into her head. It was absolutely ridiculous, of course, really insane. Later, she'd blame it on sleep-deprivation and post-war giddiness. With a quick shove, Ginny Weasley pushed Draco Malfoy against a wall.

He squeaked in surprise, dropping his still-glowing wand so that their faces were hidden by the darkness. "I thought you didn't want to punch me!" he said.

"I don't."

Ginny leant forward. She bumped against his cheek, first. It was soft and wonderfully smooth as her nose brushed against it. She didn't linger for long, though, and, after a moment, she tilted her head a little to the side. Malfoy's mouth was open in a protesting squawk, but her lips muffled the sound.

At first, she wondered if she'd made an even bigger mistake than she'd known she was going to. He was so stiff. Maybe he was disgusted that the poor, loud-mouthed blood-traitor had dared to touch him. Suddenly, though, he relaxed and tentatively kissed her back.

It wasn't the best snog she'd had, but it was…nice. A word which she doubted anyone had ever used to describe Malfoy.

Ginny pulled away, stooping down to pick up Malfoy's wand. Her face awash with bluish light, she quirked her lips into a smirk that wouldn't have been out of place on Malfoy's face.

"I bet no Weasley's ever kissed a Malfoy before."

Malfoy pulled himself together, regaining his composure. With a shaky laugh, he said, "No, I don't imagine one has."

Then, he stepped forward and, snaking an arm around her waist, pulled her into another kiss. It was, Ginny thought, a little nicer than the last one. A lack of oxygen cut short the kiss, and, within a few gasping moments, both were more than ready to give it another go.

Before they made their third mistake of the night, Malfoy whispered into her ear.

"I still think I won."

**A/N: Just a bit of fluff, following the "Eighth Year at Hogwarts" cliché. I don't have much experience writing romance, so, as always, constructive criticism (or even a one-word review) would be greatly appreciated.**


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